


you know it will always just be me

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Pool Sex, Porn Without Plot, Sex, aww yEAHH, dear god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't know how he ended up in the high school swimming pool with Derek at night, but he can honestly say that he doesn't totally hate it like he thought he would. Not that he spends a lot of time thinking about dark swimming pools, Derek Hale, and the eerily romantic glow of pool lights or anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you know it will always just be me

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this was inspired by a photo off of Tumblr but because of spoilery reasons I don't want to link it here. Yeah, um, first time writing "porn" for this pairing, and in general in about a year, so I hope you like this and that this wasn't TOTALLY awkward.
> 
> Looked over by Amanda!

Stiles doesn't know how he ended up in the high school swimming pool with Derek at night, but he can honestly say that he doesn't totally hate it like he thought he would. Not that he spends a lot of time thinking about dark swimming pools and Derek Hale and the eerily romantic glow of pool lights or anything.  
  
Because he doesn't.  
  
But he really doesn't remember how they got here–and that's something he should totally remember, because Stiles prides himself on his memory that's totally badass and not at all failing–thinking that it maybe had something to do with Scott sucking at being a werewolf again–or maybe sucking at  _ being _ in general, because Derek and Stiles are trapped in his high school's  _ pool _ .  
  
It's traumatizing how not traumatizing the entire situation is.  
  
Derek's glaring at the water, like he can will it to disappear with his eyes or something, and if werewolves had supernatural powers beyond being all superhuman-y and badass, Stiles might believe it was possible.  
  
Derek can boss everyone else around with his glare. Water should be no different.  
  
Yeah.  
  
"Stiles, shut up," Derek growls, low and Alpha-y in his throat and Stiles throws up his hands in defeat  _ because he wasn't even talking . _  
  
"I wasn't even talking, man!" Stiles says, because he wasn't, for the first time in, well,  _ ever _ , and when does Stiles ever keep his mouth shut?  
  
Now, apparently.  
  
"You're throwing your feelings everywhere and it's making it hard to think," Derek says, like that actually makes  _ sense _ .  
  
"This wouldn't have happened in the first place if you didn't go all Alpha-y with Scott and make him do weird and possibly illegal werewolf things," Stiles says calmly, because the point being is–now that he can remember–is that this is all Derek's fault and Derek needs to own up to it.  
  
"He just has to track us," Derek says dryly, like that's  _ easy as shit _ , even though they're in water and Stiles has read before that water erases your smell.  
  
But that might have been dubiously credited information. Because he's sure he read that in some girl's poor attempt at homoerotic internet porn. Which he totally did not intend to find and ended up stumbling across while searching for some werewolf information.  
  
It totally wasn't intentional. And he totally didn't enjoy it, okay, nor did he jack off to it.

 

Nope.

  
"We're in  _ water _ ," Stiles starts, "he's never going to find us, because like, no offense to Scott meant here, because he's like totally awesome and he's still my best friend, but he's not exactly the smartest tool in the box."  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow. "He'll find us," he says, and he's using his "I'm right about everything so shut the fuck up" voice, so Stiles feels obligated to turn his head away from Derek.  
  
Because Derek is a dick and Stiles is above that kind of shit.  
  
*  
  
"Dude, I am so bored right now," Stiles groans, "And my skin is starting to get all pruned and that's just not cute."  
  
"Stiles," Derek growls, and doesn't elaborate.  
  
Stiles eyes him, curiously. "Do you ever stop growling? Because I don't think I've heard you say something at least not slightly growly since you've become Alpha–"  
  
"Stiles," Derek repeats, and  _ oh _ . That was definitely a  _ grunt _ .  
  
"Grunting is just a more obscene form of growling–"  
  
Derek's slammed him up against the pool wall–and  _ ow _ , okay, that totally hurts–before Stiles can even think about continuing, and his hands are pressing hot as brands into Stiles' skin. He suddenly can't breathe, like his lungs have suddenly forgotten how to work properly, and Stiles would be really upset about that if Derek's face wasn't inching closer to his own, close enough that he can feel the rapid puffs of air from where Derek's breathing way more violently than he should be.  
  
"Derek–"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Stiles gains a bit of confidence, because he's almost positive the reason that Derek's breathing hot and heavy all of a sudden isn't just because Stiles is pissing him off–hell, that's probably the usual, because Stiles pisses everyone off, all of the time, even when he's being totally useful and saving everyone's  _ ass _ . He thinks there maybe something different there, something edging closer to arousal, and while Stiles hasn't exactly been  secretive about his totally gay hard-on for all things Derek Hale, he's not sure that Derek ever really picked up on it.  
  
Stiles licks his lips, just to see if Derek's eyes will track the movement. It's dark out, and the stupid pool lights are far enough away from them that it's hard to tell, but his eyes flash that brilliant red that Stiles has grown used to in a (disturbing) way that he might kind of love.  
  
He presses forward, their faces closer together, though still far away enough to have some space in between them. "Make me," he says, enunciating, because he knows that pisses Derek off and will make him more likely to rise to the bait.  
  
Even if he doesn't want to.  
  
Though Stiles is sure he does.  
  
Because Stiles is awesome, and so is his ass, and why  wouldn't Derek want to hit that?  
  
Derek growls, deep and thoroughly turned-on in his throat, and it makes Stiles  _ shiver _ . He's never heard Derek like this, wrecked in the span of three seconds–it should scare Stiles, to see Derek losing his control in a matter of seconds, so easily, around  _ him _ of all people, but it does nothing but make Stiles' mouth water, makes his fingers stutter across the water from where he's trying very decidedly not to touch Derek until Derek touches him first.  
  
He suddenly surges forward, pressing Stiles' back against the wall so forcefully that Stiles knows there'll be scratches and bruises later, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Derek's mouth is suddenly on his own, urgent and delicious. Stiles doesn't know what to do here because it's not like his kissing record is anything to write home about, but luckily his body knows how to do it for him. It’s rushed and sexy and fucking perfect, with Derek’s lips moving against his own like it’s the only way he can  _ breathe _ –even though they’re not breathing, not at all, because Stiles will be damned if he has to stop this, not when he’s been waiting for so long.  
  
At the first press of Derek’s teeth against his his lips, Stiles can’t help the instinctual surge of his hips, seeking out the heat of Derek’s. Derek doesn’t seem to mind, though–not that Stiles actually thought he  _ would _ , because  _ hello _ , kissing–only pushes their hips closer, so Stiles can feel Derek’s erection rubbing up against his own.   
  
It feels  fantastic , like heaven and sin wrapped in one. Stiles can’t get enough of it, so he tugs Derek’s hips closer to his own, hands slipping on Derek’s swim trunks, but if Derek notices he doesn’t comment on it, just keeps taking great interest in Stiles’ mouth and  _ tearing him apart _ .  
  
“Derek,” Stiles starts, because while kissing is great and all, coming sounds nice, too. “Derek, Derek I totally think we should come. Like, that should totally become a thing.”  
  
Derek’s eyes flash again, and it makes Stiles’ heart beat faster–he’s not looking forward to getting a sudden erection from just  _ seeing _ Derek in Alpha form, or the totally embarrassing conversations thereafter, but you win some, you lose some–makes him swell where he’s pressed up against Derek’s thigh.  
  
“Stiles–” Derek grunts, “ _ Jesus _ , Stiles, you’re going to be the death of me.”  
  
Stiles grins, lewd and excited. He’s never been the  _ death _ of anyone before. Well, besides the fish he accidentally killed-while-playing-with when he was seven, but, dying fish is something he doesn’t want to think about right now. Not when he’s having  _sex_ with Derek Hale in a  pool .  
  
“Yeah, yeah come on,” Stiles says, because they’re regretfully away from coming, and Stiles would really like to be post-coital already.  
  
That’s apparently all of the coaxing Derek needs, because then he thrusts his hips experimentally into Stiles’ own, like he’s testing for Stiles’ reaction–which he seriously doesn’t have to do, because Stiles is totally, 100% on board with this, he is–so Stiles meets him halfway, and Stiles can’t even begin to stop the moan that tumbles out of his throat.  
  
“Fuck,” he hisses, and Derek’s lips clamp over his own again, probably to shut them up so Scott doesn’t find them.  
  
And yeah, that definitely is something Stiles doesn’t want.  
  
They fall into a rhythm, one that is unforgiving and bruising but Stiles doesn’t mind, probably because he absolutely fucking  _ loves _ it. He loves the feel of Derek being brutal against him, with no give and a lot of take, it makes him feel safe and protected even if all they’re doing is rutting against each other like teenagers in a  pool .  
  
In Stiles’ high school pool.  
  
“More,” Stiles says, without even knowing what he’s really saying, because his mind is a constant stream of Derek and sex and now and  _ please _ . “Come on Derek, need to come.”  
  
Derek just lets out a growl, hips thrusting against Stiles’ in abandon, like they’ve encountered a fuck-or-die plant–and really, Stiles has read up on those and they sound  _ horrible _ , even with the added sex involved, because like, you could totally be stuck with a person you hated or something, but luckily Stiles is stuck with Derek and Derek is–  
  
Derek is fucking–  
  
Derek’s nibbling and biting at his neck now with his blunt, human teeth, tongue licking over the raised skin after he’s done.   
  
Stiles can feel it building at the base of his spine, can feel it in the way that his toes curl deliciously against the scratchy pool bottom. He rocks his hips in tune with Derek’s for one, two, four more thrusts and suddenly he can no longer see Derek’s face–or what little he could see of it, anyway–with the blinding white light getting in the way and all. Not that Stiles is complaining, because it actually feels pretty nice, and he can feel it all hot and sticky in his shorts.  
  
Which isn’t sexy at all. And is actually kind of boner-killing, but luckily biology kind of took care of that for him.  
  
But seriously.  
  
Derek loses total control starts thrusting against Stiles hard and fast, without any rhythm at all, and Stiles just  takes it. He thinks he could probably get hard again if Derek kept at it long enough, even with the sticky mess in his shorts.  
  
He’s only sixteen and he’s a  _ guy _ .  
  
It’s not like he can help it.  
  
“Derek,” Stiles whispers, close enough to his ear to nip at it. So he does. “Come on, come on–” Stiles says, “ Derek , come for me.”  
  
“Oh fuc–”   
  
Stiles feels more than hears Derek come.  
  
Which is awesome. And kind of seriously gross, actually.  
  
*  
  
“That was awesome,” Stiles says, not even thirty seconds later, Derek still pressed against him.  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
“You’re not going to steal our thunder away this time, sourwolf. Let me sit here and bask in my devirginized glory.”  
  
Derek glares, but there’s no real heat, because Derek wants his ass. Derek wants his ass,  _ bad _ .  
  
Derek’s had his ass, actually.  
  
And he  _ likes _ it.  
  
Luckily, before Derek can say anything charming about eating Stiles for dinner–which won’t hold any power, because hah, Stiles totally hit that and Derek enjoyed himself–Scott comes bursting into the room, with this stupid fucking  _grin_ on his face, like he totally just found Allison’s secret stash of lacy panties, before he starts  _ choking _ .  
  
“Oh my–” He says.  
  
“Dear–” He tries again.  
  
“Arous–”  
  
Stiles grins, mostly at Scott. “I think he’s having trouble computing our compromising position.”  
  
Derek just stares at Scott blankly. “You brought this on yourself.”  
  
“What–”  
  
“If you hadn’t taken so long I wouldn’t have needed to defile Stiles senseless.”  
  
Scott looks really uncomfortable. “Um–”  
  
“What took you so long anyway?”  
  
Scott looks sheepish, and holds up his phone. “Allison called–” He cuts himself off with a squeak when Derek pushes forward and shoves Stiles against the pool wall  _ again _ , just as aggressively, and then proceeds to kiss the living fuck out of him.  
  
Stiles–well, Stiles isn’t really complaining.  
  
Even if he does feel bad about Scott’s eyesight.  
  
But not bad enough to stop.  
  
The door swings loudly a few seconds later, anyway, and the only thing that Stiles can think of as Derek’s tongue makes it’s way into his mouth is how this might possibly be the best night ever, and that he feels totally sorry for anyone who gets their come in their hair tomorrow.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off" by Pan!c at the Disco.


End file.
